Her Foolish Heart
by ThePennyTealeaf
Summary: Dotty Dingle is a young working class mother in Victorian Yorkshire with an aspiration to build a successful business in her small village. Enter the mysterious Mr Thomas Waterhouse, a gentleman with a generous nature and a dangerous secret. A twist on the current Debbie/Joe storyline, where passion and secrets rule in equal measure within Victorian society.
1. Chapter 1

_This story was inspired by the current storyline between Joseph Tate and Debbie Dingle, in particular the scene at Joe's Gatsby style party where he invited the Dingles to share in his wealth only to destroy their home. This is an interpretation of what would have happened had the story taken place 100 or so years ago._

 _Names of characters have been changed to suit the era and original scenes have been added._

 _Welcome to Emmerdale Village, home of Dotty (Debbie) Dingle, her family and once upon a time...a young Master Joseph Tate..._

CHAPTER ONE

"The Lost Soul"

His name was Mr Waterhouse. That was what they called him in the village, at least. He had arrived some weeks ago on the arm of Miss Dorothy "Dotty" Dingle, whose family rented a small cottage on the outskirts of the village and ploughed the land around it.

They had met in very strange circumstances. She and her mother, Charity, a woman who had shocked the village on several occasions with her questionable morals and behaviour, had decided that in the wake of the shocking antics of her previous attachment, that they should establish themselves a company, headed by their cousin as they were unable to claim the business as their own and leased carriages to wealthy customers in cases of emergency.

The business had been fairly successful, they agreed. They had received a request to organise a carriage from a Mr Foster, working on behalf of Mr Waterhouse and had eagerly accepted.

"Do you think it wise to lease a carriage to such a wealthy man? What do we know of this Mr Waterhouse?" Asked her mother.

"We don't know much, I agree, but I suppose we just have to trust in him." replied Dotty, ignoring her mother's suspicions.

"If you say we must, then we must. I suppose we can't earn anything without trust."

"Thank you, mother." Dotty forced a smile. She was not unattractive to look at, by any means. She had the stature that was commonplace for her class, tall and slim. Her waist was cinched with a boned corset yet it was unremarkable, she had the balanced features of her parents; striking, fiery eyes, sharp cheekbones and a thin mouth, with lips that she dressed, rebelliously, with rouge.

Her clothes were as pretty as she could afford them to be. Dotty favoured checks, usually large squares and a simple ribbon thread through the bodice. She may have been a mother to two children but had no care to wear a matron's cap, instead sweeping her wild wavy locks into a roll at the back of her head in the continental fashion.

Her mother, by comparison, was forced by the confines of her age to wear a matron's cap and as much as she detested it, it would have caused an uproar if she had worn anything else of her own choosing. Charity, who had spent some months in Paris during one of her marriages, had invested in a wardrobe of French couture that was far too extravagant for daily wear. A frill here, a trim there, just to confirm her status, yet it had all been for nothing as far as Charity was concerned. The clothes reminded her of a time she would rather have forgotten, to keep it locked away in a trunk like the one that stood in the corner of her room. Every time she approached it, it sent images of terror racing through her mind.

Yet she could hardly bear to share such confidences with anyone, least of all Dotty. She was unsure whether her daughter would even have the ability to recall her husband, once lord of the manor at Home Farm. If she could, she had never mentioned him. It had led her to distrust strangers, in particular wealthy bachelors. Yet, how could they refuse a request such as Mr Waterhouse's when their very business depended upon it?

With the request received and the arrangement confirmed, Dorothy set to work on the carriage. She had employed a few of the local farm boys, the Barton brothers, to drive the carriage, as despite her own abilities in driving competently, she was certain that Mr Waterhouse would expect the carriage to arrive in the correct manner, with the footmen and driver aboard.

"You're doing a fine job, there." She remarked to Ross, as they prepared the carriage for departure.

"You can speak for yourself, Dotty." Ross wiped his brow, "'Ow much more are we putting on this thing, anyhow?"

"Someone's fetching the horses from the Sugden Farm." Dotty answered, " so you've no need to worry about that."

"I should 'ope not. What are me and Pete doing here, anyhow? You're not expecting us to pick up your Mr Waterhouse and drive him round half of Yorkshire?"

"That's what he's paying us for, so that's what you'll do." Dotty swept back to the yard and collected the message from Mr Waterhouse's representative.

"It says here, you're to pick him up at T.C Waterhouse Holdings, in Hotten and deliver him to Leeds."

"Leeds?" Spluttered Pete, "no, no, Dotty. We en't got time to do that. En't you seen whats goin on up at t'farm?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me, Pete." Dotty twisted her mouth impatiently. Sometimes it was like herding cattle on the family farm.

"Well…we've got the sheep and the cows and we need to make sure we peer in on Mrs Dingle, not your mam, obviously."

"I'm paying you for this, Pete, remember that." Dotty pointed out.

Ross snatched it from his brother's hand.

"Leave it to us, Dotty, we'll see your Mr Waterhouse right."

Pete shook his head and jumped on the back of the carriage. Another young farmhand appeared, leading the horses to the front and chained them up.

"Looks like we're ready, Dotty. Unless you're wanting to come along for t'ride?"

"That's not a good idea." Dorothy told them, "thanks for the offer, though."

"See you back at the Woolly afterward!" Ross called from the front as he flicked the reins and the horses set off with the carriage toward the Hotten road. The 'Woolly' as Ross had termed it, was the affectionate name for the village pub, "The Woolpack" and was run by Dotty's own aunt Chastity, with the proviso that she kept the drayman happy by offering her services every so often. The brewery, it seemed, had turned a blind eye to the whole affair.

Dotty watched as the carriage shrank into nothing more than a dot on the horizon and returned to the office to consult her books. She was determined to show everyone that she was far more than what they thought of her. It was only as she was sipping her way through a mug of coffee that she realised the time.

They had been away hours now and it didn't take that long to get to Leeds.

"Miss Dingle! Miss Dingle!" A blonde woman with flyaway hair and a happy, cheerful face came bounding toward the office bearing a piece of paper in her hand.

"What is it, Tabby?" Dotty had very little time for whatever gossip Tabby was surely about to share. She and her husband, the rather attractive David ran the village stores together and accepted letters through their makeshift post office. She knew that Tabby had a tendency to spin yarns, the bigger the better, suggested some, but this was different. There was a sense of panic in the woman's face.

"Please, Dotty!" Tabby urged, brandishing the paper, "this came at once for you!"

Dotty took the paper in her shaking hands and read the telegram.

"What is it, Dotty?"

"The carriage. A Mr Waterhouse asked for it. It's…" she could hardly get the words out, "its been stolen."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"A Call to Arms"

"Stolen?" Repeated Tabby, her eyes wide with shock, "never!"

"It has! It says here!" Dotty poked the paper with her finger, "I'm gonna have to go explain to Mr Waterhouse myself. "

"But how? You don't have a carriage!" Tabby pointed out helpfully.

"I'll take one of the horses off Sugden's."

"You sure about this, Dotty?"

"Sure as I'll ever be." Dotty slammed the door shut on the office and hurried off to Sugden's Farm. The family who resided there were only too happy to help. They allowed Dotty to take their fine racer horse which had originally belonged to the family up at Home Farm and Dotty set off on her journey.

She took a break in Hotten and allowed the horse some time to recuperate before taking on the long road to Leeds.

There was nothing unseemly about a country girl riding about the streets, but Dotty knew she had to make the right impression on Mr Waterhouse. She dismounted and dragged the horse by the reins through the city, looking around for Waterhouse Holdings.

"Ey!" She called to a footman who was basking outside a pub, "Waterhouse Holdings?"

He looked her up and down with an air of disgust, "down the street turn left, but I must ask, what business have you with Mr Waterhouse?"

"That's none of yours." Dotty snapped and dragged the horse around the corner out of sight of the footman. She saw it then, the fine red brick building that rose up with a pointed roof and delicate arched windows. It exuded grandeur and commanded respect from every angle. It was the perfect situation for someone like Mr Waterhouse, Dotty thought.

She tied the horse to a post and approached the office. Pete and Ross were nowhere to be seen, but, knowing them, Dotty reminded herself, they were probably in the pub.

Dotty knocked politely, assuming her best ladylike manner and waited.

"Hello." A stocky man stood before her. He was rugged looking in a distinguished sort of way, with a square jaw and mysterious, soulful eyes. He wore a valet's uniform of black tailcoat, fine tie, white shirt, plain waistcoat with a pocket watch attached with a set of plain trousers and polished shoes. His skin was slightly darkened, as though he had done his share of labour and yet he was looking at Dotty with interest that could only be expressed as warmth.

"Pardon me, sir. I'm Dotty Dingle. Mr Waterhouse made a request for a carriage. I have received a telegram informing me it has been stolen."

"Miss Dingle. Please come in." He stepped back to allow Dotty to enter the building, which was as it was on the outside. Expensively furnished with a fine wooden staircase and shiny tiled floors.

"I can't apologise enough for this." Dotty gabbled, struggling to keep with the valet's pace as they climbed the stairs.

"Mr Waterhouse will see you." Was the valet's only reply.

"Is he angry?"

The valet ignored her comment and came to a halt outside an oak door bearing the inscription: T.C Waterhouse.

The valet knocked and held the door closed with one hand as he approached his master, who was far younger than he was and far more finely clothed.

"Mr Waterhouse, there is a Miss Dingle to see you."

"Thank you. I will see her." Came a smooth reply. Dotty tensed. How could she have thought that it was a good idea? Her eyes ran over her hands, checking them for dirt. Did she smell of farmland? She sniffed.

"Mr Waterhouse will see you, now." The valet had appeared again. Dotty jumped and pinched her skirts, lifting them slightly to enter the office.

Mr Waterhouse cast an appreciative glance over her, a smile curling at his thin lips. Yes, she was just as Forster had described. Common as muck, just like her mother. What decent woman would dream of turning up unannounced to a man's office without invitation? Especially in such a ragged state. Perhaps, he thought, those are the only clothes she has? He had not expected her to look so attractive in feature, however. Those eyes of hers. They were exquisite. She looked so nervous and yet, he could tell that she was fiercely independent.

"Would you care for a drink? You must be tired after your journey? Forster, organise some refreshment for Miss Dingle, would you?" He snapped back into focus.

"What would Miss Dingle like?" Forster asked.

"Champagne." The young gentleman cut over her, "the bottle in the cellar, Forster."

"I'd rather coffee, thank you."

"As you wish. Forster." He nodded to the valet, who promptly left.

"So, where is Mr Waterhouse, please?" Dotty asked.

"Mr Waterhouse is here."

"You are Mr Waterhouse?" Dotty struggled to contain her surprise.

"You seem surprised."

"I am."

Their eyes were fixed on each other.

"Am I to presume that you were expecting someone much older? Someone who perhaps is rather full bodied, with puffy features and a gluttonous roll?"

Dotty froze. He was a fine looking gentleman, too, she noted. Far younger than she had expected, he could only be in his early twenties. He was dressed in a tailored frock coat, with a neat cravat at his throat, a starched white collar and a gold waistcoat. A handkerchief poked from his chest pocket and he stared back at her with intensity from an oval shaped face, his large green eyes soft.

The young Mr Waterhouse laughed. It was a sharp laugh, which could be easily misinterpreted, but there was something discerning about him that assured Dotty. He smirked and beckoned Forster in, who placed a tray of coffee on the desk in front of his master.

"I'm sorry for coming here like this, but I got a message that the carriage I lent you had been stolen. I'll arrange for another, of course. No expense." She added.

"Your one and only carriage, by all accounts has indeed been stolen, with little hope that it shall be found. How am I able to trust in you when I know absolutely nothing about whether you are telling me the truth?" Mr Waterhouse continued.

"The carriage will be found, you have my word, sir. As to the finances, I have made provision for such a situation." She bluffed, hoping that she sounded convincing. All the while Mr Waterhouse kept that smug expression on his face.

"I admire your gall, but sadly I have already consulted with another supplier to ensure that I am adequately covered for my journey. I thank you for your pains in travelling here today." He seemed to be enjoying himself rather too much.

"What do you do, if I may ask, Mr Waterhouse?" Dotty could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks.

Mr Waterhouse glanced briefly at his valet before answering, "I? I arrange the sale of property, from the continents to residences in London."

"So, in a way, you and I work in a similar fashion." Dotty persisted, "we both require payment upfront for the services we offer."

"What service do you offer if you have no carriage?" Mr Waterhouse's eyes twinkled. Dotty set her chin.

"I may have no service to offer, but I don't have to buy my acquaintances as you surely do."

Mr Waterhouse's eyes widened along with his smile. What a thing for a woman to say. Yet he admired it, admired her for her feistiness.

Dotty braced herself. Surely a gentleman of his standing would dismiss her on the spot for speaking so boldly.

"I believe our business is concluded. Show Miss Dingle out, please, Forster."

Dotty gave him a condescending look before leaving the room, as Forster kept his eyes on his young master, as though challenging him to follow her.

This had been their first encounter and as far as Dotty was concerned, she hoped that they would not continue. She could not bear to look at that smug face again. How on earth would she explain it to her mother on her return?


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"A Handsome Offer"

"What are you telling me, Dot?" Charity paced the floor of the humble 'Jacob's Fold' cottage that Dotty claimed as home, "that someone stole the carriage and now we stand at the risk of being thrown into debt, all for the sake of the loss of one single carriage? Have you consulted anyone about this?"

"Yes," Dotty clasped her head with one hand, "I've done everything, I spoke to a solicitor in Hotten. I travelled back to Leeds."

"Not to see Mr Waterhouse?" It had been a few days since the loss of the carriage had been reported.

"No, not to see Mr Waterhouse. I doubt I'll hear from him again. Oh, Mam, this is a mess."

"We've lost everything. How can you be so calm? Have you no idea what I have been through to secure that carriage for us?"

"Mam, please. I've done everything I can."

Charity sighed impatiently.

"Sorry to…" a tall lanky man, another of the clan, entered the kitchen with a rag in his hands. He was the cook for the public house and his creations were famous for miles. He had made the homely village pub the place to see and now that it provided lunches it had become the place to eat. It was as fashionable as any grand restaurant in Leeds.

"What is it?" Charity snapped.

"Ey, don't take it out on him. What do you want?"

"Sorry, but there's a delivery outside. Not a parcel, like."

"Stop speaking in riddles!" Charity stood up, "just tell us,"

"It's a carriage. They want to know where to leave t'horses."

"A carriage?" Charity and Dotty looked at each other.

"Yea, you'd best come see."

They hurriedly joined the cook at the front of the cottage, where a fine carriage awaited. It was a Hansom, just as the previous one had been and Forster stood at the door.

"It looks like ours." Charity remarked, "heck, it smells like ours."

"What is this about?" Dotty directed her question at Forster.

"With Mr Waterhouse's compliments." He nodded.

"A Hansom?" Charity stared at it and grabbed her daughter's shoulders. "This could be the answer."

"Your master…?" Dotty began, looking at Forster, "why would he do this?"

"I am merely carrying out his wishes." Forster replied. "Good day, Miss Dingle."

He turned and walked to another cart which had been parked nearby.

Charity ran her fingers across the door of the Hansom appreciatively.

"Well, whoever your Mr Waterhouse may be, he en't afraid of sparing his fortune on the poor and unfortunate." She laughed.

Dotty was delighted, she couldn't deny it, but she was also intrigued. A carriage was a hefty expense, she knew, so why would Mr Waterhouse choose to gift one to her when he had sworn not to do business with her?

For the moment, however, she was content.

The Hansom was the first of many gifts that arrived in the village in the days that followed. A set of reference books arrived, horses from a fine breeder in Berkshire and then Mr Waterhouse himself. They formed an attachment and began their courtship with a passion that was unrivalled. From the stern, arrogant young gentleman came a man who was determined to get what he wanted and his sights, the villagers decided, were set on Dotty Dingle.

"I wonder what he's expectin' for all this?" Sneered Ross Barton, as he stood at the bar of the village pub. Dotty was sitting nearby at one of the round tables that were scattered around, warmed by the heat of the large open fireplace that blazed a roaring fire. She had spent much of the afternoon in quiet reflection, considering the situation with Mr Waterhouse.

It seemed rather eccentric that a gentleman of his calibre would even consider making such an expense on a lowly working class country girl. Not that Dotty was really a girl, of course. Of her thirty summers that she had lived, she had managed to produce two children and was considered to be reckless at the best of times.

"If you must know, Ross," she piped up, "he wants to invest in the carriage business."

"You hope."

"Just stop it, Ross." Warned Dotty, defensively, her hand clasping the back of the chair.

"I'm trying to look out for you, Dotty." Ross answered, lifting a tankard to her.

"I can look after myself, thanks." Dotty snapped.

"I'm sure you can. What's next, the oyster bar? Dinner with his Lordship up at the big house?"

"Eh, Ross Barton, you can stop it now." Charity interrupted, rapping the bar with her hand.

"Was that your Hansom I saw outside?" Pete, Ross' brother asked as he entered the bar.

"Might be." Dotty pursed her lips, "what would it matter if so? I don't recall you or Ross being that concerned when it were missing in Leeds? I had to find out from Tabby!"

The brothers looked uncomfortable. It had been too much of an opportunity to waste. The chance to see the city, to indulge in the thrills of cosmopolitan life; they hadn't even considered the safety of the carriage when they'd abandoned it outside Mr Waterhouse's building.

"Eh, well, we're sorry an' that." Ross murmured.

"Sorry? You lost the carriage, Ross. I trusted you and him to take it to Leeds."

"Got somethin' out of it though, didn't yer, Dot?" Pete added viciously.

"What?"

"Your Mr Waterhouse. Taken quite a fancy, I hear."

"I don't know what you've heard, Ross Barton, but you're wrong."

"I wouldn't say that, Dot." Dotty's mother interjected with a sympathetic gaze toward her daughter, "why don't you tell 'em of your Mr Waterhouse. Catch of Yorkshire, it seems!"

Dotty sighed.

"I have nothin' to say. Its no one's concern what I do. You two," she added to Pete and Ross, "don't expect you're getting anythin' for losing the carriage, you en't."

"Dot, we need the money. You can't just…"

"I run the firm. I make the decisions." Dotty told them, "I know what you all think of me, but I weren't the one that lost a carriage. Mr Waterhouse has kindly replaced it, so no charity is required."

"En't we all la-di-da all of a sudden?" Remarked her aunt from the bar.

"That'll be Mr Waterhouse." Her sister agreed, "dangerous influence if you ask me. Then again, could be advantageous for the business."

"Mam, we're not involving Mr Waterhouse. It was kind enough of him to replace the carriage, but we can't just accept his charity and not give him somethin' in return."

"I've got a pretty good idea what he'll want in return. Look after your garters, Dotty." Warned Pete.

"You'll want to look after somethin' else if you say another word, Pete Barton!" Warned Chastity, her face within inches of Pete's.

Fortunately, the young man conceded defeat in his taunts and Dotty returned to the cottage, where she found a telegram from Mr Waterhouse, requesting her attendance. She sat down in the armchair next to the fire and read over the faint scrawl of text. He had been so unbearable to begin with, but how could she dismiss him now when he had saved her from debt? The Hansom had not been a gift to be sneered at.

She placed a new sheet of paper on the table before her and headed it 'Mr Waterhouse' before adding her reply. Naturally, she would accept.

However what came next surprised her even more so than the Hansom. Mr Waterhouse, upon her arrival at his office, had declared that in the interests of her company, she should engage a beneficiary to manage all monetary matters. Dotty was confused at first but allowed Mr Waterhouse to explain. He had then sent Foster from the room only to return with a draft for the payment of £5000. Dotty had stared at it for a moment, before glancing up at her benefactor's kind eyes.

"For your business, Miss Dingle." He advised.

"This is a heck of a lot of money. I can't...it wouldn't be right." She refused him as gently as she could.

Mr Waterhouse was disappointed but did not allow her refusal to taint his companionship with her. It appeared, he thought, that she was better than he was led to believe.

"What do you mean, you refused it?" Demanded Charity, stalking the floor of the cottage with anger, "that could have been a chance for us, Dot!"

Dotty had returned the night before, having spent the evening fighting with her conscience. Had she made the right decision for herself or for the good of her family? She had not accepted the draft and she was confident in her morals, at least on this occasion.

"Its not our money, Mam. It belongs to Mr Waterhouse and its most kind of him to offer it, but I just think we should keep t'business out of our attachment." Dotty explained. It could never be said that Dotty was sensible, nor did she possess any great ability in anything. Her education had been that of any other country girl; limited to the basics and signed off at fourteen.

"Attachment? Dot? Have you an attachment with Mr Waterhouse?" her mother demanded. Her blue eyes were at once alert and interested.

Dotty pulled up a chair and leant her arm on the table, which sunk on one leg.

"Mam, any attachment I have with Mr Waterhouse is the concern of myself and him. You don't need to involve yourself."

"Dotty, you're my daughter, what am I supposed to do? Just look at your past form…one lunatic…well, part drunk, at least…" Charity dragged a chair out and sat opposite. There was quite a difference in height. The table served as a balance, or mediation between them.

"Mam, I can make decisions for myself." Dotty attempted to stuff a ball of brown paper under the offending table leg.

"I know, but this Mr Waterhouse, what do you really know about him? I thought he was insolent to you when you visited him?"

Dotty harrumphed as she forced the paper into a flatter ball. That was just like her mother to question everything, yet she never made a decision based on reason as Dotty did. Poor Dotty was torn between her loyalty and her growing fascination with the young gentleman she had to come to know rather intimately as Mr Waterhouse.

Once again she found herself on the doorstep of his office. Charity had not yet come to terms with her daughter's rejection of Mr Waterhouse's offer, but she had agreed that it would be correct and proper to see him again, if only to tell him that she had 'hopefully' changed her mind.

"Mr Waterhouse asked to see me," she explained to an astonished Foster who opened the door to her.

"I have no knowledge of this, however you may come in." Foster agreed, leading Dotty across the hall to the office that Mr Waterhouse used for his excursions to Hotten. She clutched at her bag, suddenly nervous. Why should she feel so confused around him? He was no different than any other man, any other gentleman, she corrected herself.

"You may enter, Miss Dingle." Foster announced, startling her. Dotty swirled her skirts to give them a fresher look and swept forward into the confines of young Mr Waterhouse's office.

He was seated as usual in his oak chair, adorned in velvet and silk garments that confirmed his position in society. Dotty's on the other hand, did nothing to enhance her appearance. He stood up immediately upon seeing Dotty and smiled at her.

"You may leave us, Foster. Unless you would care for some refreshment?" he added to Dotty, who blushed. It was such a childish thing to do, she thought, for she was not a schoolgirl and had no reason to feel so shy.

"I don't need anything." Dotty replied softly.

"Go and check on the apprentices, will you, Foster? I can't be doing with attending upon them at every interval."

"Very good, sir." Foster bowed and closed the door, leaving Dotty alone with Mr Waterhouse.

"So," Mr Waterhouse began in his educated manner, "I sent for you and so you came. How loyal of you?"

"I was interested, Mr Waterhouse, nothing more than that."

"Yet still you came. I should imagine that you consider yourself privileged to receive such attention. A mere country girl…" he looked her over, "not what one would consider to be an appropriate visitor to a gentleman's office."

"You consider yourself a gentleman, do you, Mr Waterhouse?"

Mr Waterhouse laughed again, yet in an almost teasing manner, as though anticipating the remark.

"Should I have reason not to, Miss Dingle? I suppose I could ask, do you consider yourself a lady?" He responded with ease, "that is, despite your obvious lack of breeding and attention to deportment?"

He ran his circular eyes over Dotty's bad posture, skinny ankles and rough nails.

"You think of yourself as a gentleman, Mr Waterhouse, but you are all of a pretence."

"A pretence, Miss Dingle? You wound me so carelessly."

"Do I?" she edged closer, "I thought you considered me a failure? You said yourself that you could never trust me."

The smile returned to his lips. He seemed amused by the situation in which he found himself. His hand reached out to Dotty, who stared in awe at it, avoiding his eyes.

"What do you mean by this?" She asked.

"Consider it an invitation." Mr Waterhouse advised courteously.

"An invitation to what? I don't care for the theatre, its too high brow for me.

"The theatre? Goodness, no." Mr Waterhouse shook his head. His eyes fell on the volume that poked from Dotty's satchel, "well, I didn't have you pegged as a thief."

Dotty slid her hand down to the book. Her palm felt sweaty. Why had she done it? She had no cause to steal from him. It was a book, indeed, but it was still the property of Mr Waterhouse.

"If I am not mistaken, that is one of mine." He declared. "Come, give me the book."

He held out his hand expectantly.

Dotty twisted her mouth. She had not meant to be caught, nor

did she want to be condemned as a thief. It was Mr Waterhouse's property, after all

"It appears I was right not to trust you," Mr Waterhouse gently plucked the book from her hands, "very useful, I should think." He pointed at the title, which confirmed the book to be a business manual, of sorts.

"I shouldn't have taken it."

"No, but perhaps the thrill of the chase excites you. Perhaps you consider me to be a worthy target for your folly?"

Dotty could barely understand his well spoken language, but she knew enough to know how to respond.

"No. I don't."

"Good, because I don't hire thieves. Nor harlots for that matter." He spat the words without his usual grace.

"I want to learn, I do. But accepting your offer...its too much. I want my carriages to succeed on their own terms."

"Naturally. I expect the same of my own investments." He agreed. "But what does a book teach? How does that compare to true experience?"

"It doesn't."

"Of course, little women like yourself have no need for books. You can make do without brains." He taunted, but his voice had deepened and there was a longing in his eyes. Dotty's hand trembled and she pulled up her arm, ready to strike, but Mr Waterhouse caught it and pulled her into a sudden embrace.

"A foolish thing to do, Miss Dingle."

"I don't think so."

"I gifted you a Hansom." He whispered, "would you not consider that to be a token of affection? Of my esteem?"

"Is that what this is about?" Dotty retorted, pulling sharply away, "you have so little respect for me, don't you? Simple country girl, simple mind, eh? Think you can treat me as your puppet, to amuse you?" She scoffed, "how on earth could you even be considered a gentleman?"

"Because, like it or not, I get what I want." Mr Waterhouse pulled her back and she relaxed her stance, lost in his eyes. His kiss was not a gentle one, nor was it forceful, but it confirmed that the barriers of class did not matter to Mr Waterhouse, that he was willing to forgo the rules and accept Dotty for what she was.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"A Lady's Privilege"

Dotty emerged from the office with an expression of pure astonishment. Her cheeks were red, yet there was no offending mark on her bodice, nor crease in her skirt to declare impropriety. Foster had attended, if only to spare the blushes of Miss Dingle.

"The apprentices are settled, sir." He advised his master, glancing at Dotty.

"Very good. Send them to Luncheon, won't you, Foster?"

"As you wish, sir." He nodded, "Miss Dingle."

Dotty nodded awkwardly. She could not begin to transpire what had just occurred between herself and Mr Waterhouse, however she knew that what she had seen in his eyes was true. Theirs was a passionate venture, but how could she be sure of her intentions, or his intentions? She had the children to consider, didn't she? Or could she be allowed the right to such illicit passion to pursue with Mr Waterhouse?

It was a decision she made from her heart, the choice to trust in Mr Waterhouse, despite her own family's misgivings on the subject. She was very aware of her loyalty to them as much as to him. Would they approve of Mr Waterhouse, or Tom, as he had insisted she call him?

The oldest businessman in the village, Mr Pollard, had certainly been keen to make his acquaintance upon his first arrival into the village.

Like Tom, he had spent years building an empire and slightly resented the way that other people were so successful.

However Tom had not yet made the acquaintance of Dotty's mother, a prospect, he had confessed was daunting to him as he was an orphan. Dotty had been sympathetic and arranged for them to meet, only for Tom to be taken ill. The arrangement had aroused suspicion from Charity, however he was soon recovered and Dotty rearranged the meeting. They were to meet at Dotty's humble cottage, where a spread of cakes and jellies had been laid upon the table (now fixed by Dotty's father, Cain) along with sandwiches and a bottle of her aunt's home made lemonade. It was a meagre feast by Tom's exacting standards; for he was used to grand dinner parties where meat and pudding were plentiful. Dotty set to arranging the table and put on her best clothes for the occasion, insisting that her mother do the same.

"Is he here yet?" Charity poked her head downstairs. Her hair was tousled from the attempt she had made to fix it upon her head and the laces trailed from her corset. She was barely dressed in her everyday gown and yet Dotty's Mr Waterhouse was expected imminently.

"Not yet," Dotty admitted, "but he will be."

"Hmm." Charity began to hum a tune, as though mocking her daughter's faith in Tom.

"He will be here."

There came a knock on the door and Dotty greeted Tom with eagerness, ushering him into the cramped lounge to greet her mother, who had managed to slip past her daughter without being seen.

"Tom Waterhouse, pleased to meet you. Charity, isn't it?"

"Only by name, yes." Charity retorted, "so, this is your attach…"

"Mam."

"I am your daughter's 'attachment', yes. But you may be assured, that I have your daughter's best interests at heart."

"Oh, don't give me that. How on earth could you possibly afford a Hansom, all this money you've lavished on her…you're barely a lad." Charity scoffed.

"I inherited some and I built the rest of it myself." He held on tight to Dotty's hand.

"Very fortunate, I'm sure."

"If you consider being an orphan an advantage?" Tom cast his eyes to the floor.

"Oh." Charity retracted, at once sincere, "I am sorry."

"Not at all." He squeezed Dotty's hand, "so, do I have your permission to court your daughter, formally?"

"Consider it a work in progress, Mr Waterhouse." Charity replied. Dotty heaved a sigh of relief.

The meeting done, the courtship resumed on a more formal standing. Dotty was invited to share in the knowledge of running a business, as Tom arranged for Foster to set up a desk in his office for her to learn about his work and she was allowed the expenses of travelling back and forth to Hotten and Leeds to Tom's offices.

There had been rumours circulating the villages about the possibility of new roads and houses being built yet these had all been dismissed by the councils of the county, who assured their panicked residents that no such plans were in place.

Tom, however, knew that the rumours were true and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know that he was the only one who had access to this information. His office in Leeds had been shut temporarily in favour of the office in Hotten, where he was working closely with the council to arrange the plans for the new roads. It wasn't his usual project, but he feigned enthusiasm at the conferences and dinners with only one thing on his mind.

Dotty. Try as he might, he could not free himself from the overwhelming yearning to see her. Her children, Sarah and young Jack had accepted him into their fold without question. Whilst he was too young to claim to be their father, he provided them with the security and privileges that Dotty aspired to give them herself and she was grateful for that.

She arrived at his offices on the dot of nine each morning, books in hand, ready to learn from his own experience. He allowed her to take the books home in the evenings after they had dined together, usually in the smartest restaurants, but sometimes in the humble offerings of a local public house.

Dotty didn't make any comment on any of their excursions, however Tom soon became aware of just how clever she was and that allowing her the knowledge of his work could be dangerous, both to him and his reputation as a successful businessman.

His generosity was not limited to Dotty however. He lavished Dotty's children with expensive gifts, arranged for them to attend lessons on subjects that were to their interest and within a month of properly courting their mother, he had purchased the humble cottage for Dotty and had paid the doctor's fees for her invalid daughter Sarah.

After years of struggling to pay the charges for the most menial of medical ailments and their subsequent remedies, Dotty was relieved to know that she could depend upon Mr Waterhouse, her own Mr Waterhouse to provide for her. It had not been her intention, but she had become so familiar with him that it was impossible to know how she could possibly expect to make do on her own without his input.

This was not to say that she did not appreciate that the income he kindly shared with her could be withdrawn at any moment, but she was so certain of her love and devotion to Mr Waterhouse that she barely noticed that he had come to own her as his very own living doll.


End file.
